


quiet golden shores

by JenTheSweetie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSweetie/pseuds/JenTheSweetie
Summary: A few months ago when Tony had thrown out casually, “You could always visit my place in the Caribbean,” Steve had asked if he meant a private island, and Tony had dismissed, “Nah, it’s just a compound on an isolated peninsula,” and Steve had been about to roll his eyes evenbeforeTony added, “Private islands are excessive, I sold all of mine in the 90s.”





	quiet golden shores

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a post-AoU but pre-CACW world. Written for the kink bingo square "sex in water", but ultimately much heavier on "water" than "sex". Thanks to Snapjack for the inspiration.

The first thing Steve notices when the Quinjet lands is the sound of waves.

It’s the middle of the night, and most of the island is dark as the Quinjet descends, just scattered lights to mark out roads and a double row for the tiny landing strip.  He can’t get much of a feel for the size of the island or its shape around him, only the humidity hanging in the air and the crash of waves somewhere nearby, invisible through the trees.  

There are other people on the island, Steve knows that much.  A few months ago when Tony had thrown out casually, “You could always visit my place in the Caribbean,” Steve had asked if he meant a private island, and Tony had dismissed, “Nah, it’s just a compound on an isolated peninsula,” and Steve had been about to roll his eyes even _before_  Tony added, “Private islands are excessive, I sold all of mine in the 90s.”  But Steve gets the feeling that there can’t be _that_  many people on the narrow spit of land, and there certainly aren’t any in the house nestled in among the palm trees to the west of the landing strip.  It’s quiet, surrounded by a natural hush that could never happen anywhere actually populated.

The front door opens after a quick biometric scan, and a wash of conditioned air welcomes Steve into a spacious foyer.  “Friday?” he asks.

“Welcome, Captain Rogers,” Friday says.  “Mr. Stark has been held up in Los Angeles and won’t be arriving for several hours.  He sends his apologies.”

“I got his text,” Steve says.  “Is there a guest room on this floor?”

“To your left,” Friday says, “but Mr. Stark wanted to make sure you knew you were welcome to - ”

“I know,” Steve says, and turns left.  “Thanks, Friday.”

The guest suite is bigger than Steve’s apartment in DC, and he doesn’t notice much besides that as he drops his pack and turns on the bathroom light.  He splashes water on his face and brushes his teeth, then pads over to the window, which opens automatically under his hand.  The air smells salty as it wafts inside.  The moon is so new that even Steve’s eyes can only make out the shape of trees, the curved edge of a pool.  He squints, trying to see the shoreline, but pretty soon he gives it up as a lost cause and crawls into the big bed in the middle of the room and drifts away to the sound of waves crashing against the sand.

  
  
  


When Steve opens his eyes, it’s light out.  

He blinks up at the ceiling, mildly surprised.  He doesn’t usually sleep well in places he’s never been before, tends to wake suddenly and twist toward the door, then struggle to fall back asleep for hours.  Still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he pads to the window and looks out at the view.  

It is, to put it mildly, spectacular.  Tony hadn’t been lying: the sand is pure white, the water crystal clear blue, the palm trees as picturesque as if they’d been painted.  Steve thinks he can see coconuts.  

“He get in okay last night?” Steve asks, not because he’s _worried_  or anything, but it’s not like Tony to show up anywhere without making some kind of racket.

“Just a few hours ago,” Friday says.  “He’s in the workshop under the garage.”

“Figures,” Steve says, digging his sneakers out of his bag.  “I won’t bother him.”

“If you say so, Captain.”

The guest suite has its own exit to the pool, and Steve jogs past it on his way to the sand.  The morning air isn’t exactly cool, but it’s pleasant enough, fresh in a way you never get in DC or New York City or even upstate. 

The house really is at the end of a private peninsula, and he waffles for a moment before setting off to the right, toward the bay that spreads out for a few miles ahead of him.  He has no idea where Tony’s property line is, but he figures the odds of anyone catching him trespassing are pretty low - most people tend to sleep in on their vacations, right? - and he runs steadily as the sun rises higher in the sky to the east.  It gets hotter and hotter as he runs, and by the time he turns back he’s drenched in sweat.  Tony’s house juts out at the end of the peninsula, all bright white concrete and marble columns.  It’s not as big as Steve would have guessed, almost modest by Tony’s standards.  Steve actually kind of likes it.  

He catches his breath under one of the palm trees that frame the pool.  The waves are tantalizingly close, and with a perfunctory look around to make sure there’s nobody looking, he toes off his shoes and drops his sweat-soaked shirt in the sand, then pulls off his shorts and briefs and runs for it.

The water is cool as it laps at his ankles, his knees, over his thighs, and then he dives.  It’s even quieter under the water than it is above it, and he swims away from the shore for as long as he can without taking a breath.  By the time he kicks to the surface, he’s hundreds of yards from the beach, and the sunlight reflects off the water as he looks back at it, nearly blinding him.  He floats for a while, then dives under again, plotting a wide arc out to sea and back.  

The next time he surfaces, he hears a familiar _swoosh_  overhead.  He tilts his head back and squints into the sun, and before long he spots Tony high in the sky, swooping toward the clouds and then low again, doing loop-de-loops and just generally showing off.  

Steve treads water as Tony descends rapidly, facedown and headed straight for the water, and then he pulls up, hard, just barely buzzing Steve’s head.  “Jerk,” Steve mutters, kicking out for shore.

By the time the sand sneaks up under his feet, Tony has landed.  “Nice of you to stop by,” he calls out, walking toward him with the face mask up.

“I was expecting something a little fancier, but I guess this’ll have to do,” Steve says, wading through the waves until he’s in water up to his waist.

“Friday said you slept in the guest suite.”

“Friday said _you_  worked all night.”

“Touche,” Tony says.  He raises his eyebrows, and Steve notices that the water is only sloshing around his thighs.  “You went skinny dipping without me?  I’m hurt, Cap.”

“It wasn’t planned.  And anyway, you’re welcome to join me.”

“Maybe I should.  Want to see how long I can hold my breath?” Tony says, making a show of letting his eyes rove up and down.

Steve arches an eyebrow.  “I’m not sure that’s a fight you want to pick with me.”

“I’m pretty sure this is one we’d both win,” Tony says, and Steve snorts.  “I was actually about to go take a shower when I saw you.  Wanna come?”

Steve shrugs.  “I guess I’m already wet.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Tony says with a wink.  “I’ll give you a lift.”

“Now, hang on,” Steve starts, but as usual it’s too late: Tony shoots forward and hooks an arm around Steve’s waist, and Steve barely has time to grab on before Tony accelerates into the air.  “Tony, my _clothes -_ ”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Tony says, his voice modulated by the suit as he rises above the beach.

“I don’t need new ones,” Steve mutters, but his voice gets lost in the wind.

  
  
  
  

It’s strange, sometimes, when they first see each other.  They aren’t in the same place often - Tony spends time in Beijing and London and LA, and Steve splits his days between Brooklyn and the base upstate and a crummy apartment in DC he rents under a fake name - and when they do cross paths it’s usually with the team.  They catch the occasional night together after a mission, or an evening when Tony’s in New York, or once, memorably, an afternoon in Steve room’s at the base while everyone else thought they were in a meeting.  

But they go weeks, sometimes more, not even speaking to each other, and then Tony will send a text: _In the city, you free around 8?_   And Steve will be free, or not, and they’ll see each other, or they won’t, and either way it’s fine, it’s exactly what they decided it would be that first night when Tony suggested it and Steve, to his own surprise, said yes.  

And what it means is that usually it’s been a while, and so when they see each other again there’s a moment of uncertainty - _are we still, should we, do you want_  - a silent negotiation, a taking of temperatures.  It’s almost like the first time all over again.

So it isn’t until Steve’s padded through the open french doors from Tony’s second floor balcony to the master suite and stepped under the cool spray of the oversized shower that he realizes they haven’t even kissed yet.  Iron Man’s standing sentry on the balcony, and Tony’s peeling himself out of his clothes and probably leaving a trail across the entire bedroom.  Steve can feel Tony’s eyes on him.

“I’m not sure the shower’s big enough for both of us,” Steve calls over his shoulder as Tony approaches, and Tony chuckles, because the shower is big enough for the whole team, including the Hulk.

“Guess we’ll have to squeeze,” Tony says.  As if to prove it he presses himself against Steve’s back, his hands sliding around to palm Steve’s waist.  “Flight wasn’t too bad?”

“Little bit of weather over Florida, but nothing interesting,” Steve says.  He tilts his head back as Tony’s thumbs rub circles into his hips, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.  “What came up in LA?”

“I’m being sued,” Tony said.  “What else is new.  Why do I pay an entire law firm to work for me if the other side can still force me to talk about proprietary microprocessor technology until the wee hours of the morning?  I don’t know about this whole ‘due process’ thing, I don’t think I’m in favor.”

“You could always pay off the judge,” Steve muses as Tony’s hands drift lower. 

“Captain America, that is a shocking suggestion, I am _shocked_.”

“I’m sure you are,” Steve says, and when he twists in Tony’s arms Tony is ready for it, and he wraps a hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him down until their lips meet, wet and tender in the spray of the shower.  

Tony is never tentative except in the very first moment, and that moment’s always over so quickly that Steve wonders if he’s imagining it.  Because it’s always just a moment: almost immediately, Steve’s back is against the cold tile wall and Tony’s tongue is hot in his mouth and his hands are _everywhere_.  Tony is enthusiastic about everything, every time, and before long he’s on his knees with Steve in his mouth, and Steve has his hands in Tony’s hair and he’s trying not to pull too hard because there’s a moment just before he comes where he can’t control himself and Tony knows it and he _loves_ it, it’s his absolute favorite part, he always says, because he’s a _jerk_.  

Steve doesn’t hold it against him, though, because later, when they’ve climbed soaking wet into the huge bed in the center of the room and Steve is riding him, slowly at first and then faster, harder, his body stretching around Tony, that’s when _Tony_  loses himself.  Steve isn’t sure he even knows he does it but whenever he’s buried deep inside Steve and about to reach the edge the words fall out of his mouth like he can’t keep them in: “So good, baby, you’re so good to me,” and “Need you so bad,” and “God, I missed you,” and Steve wouldn’t admit it if he were standing in front of a HYDRA firing squad but that’s _his_  favorite part, so.  They can call it even, he supposes.

  
  
  


Tony fall asleep afterwards, partly because he’s been up all night but mostly because he _always_  falls asleep afterwards, but Steve’s not tired at all.  He digs some fresh clothes out of his bag and wanders through the house, noting the fully-stocked kitchen, the entertainment center, the four-lane bowling alley in the basement.  He’s pretty sure Tony doesn’t even like bowling.  

He checks his emails by the pool and then sends Sam a picture with the beach in the background, just a shit-eating grin and no caption, and Sam immediately writes back, _Asshole_  and _It’s raining in New York_  and _Do I have to sleep with Stark to get an invite?  Because honestly, I might be willing_.  Steve ignores it all and reminds him to spend an extra hour training with Wanda to make up for the day they missed last week, and eventually gets back a string of emojis that he’s almost certain should be interpreted as something rude.

By the time Tony wakes up, Steve’s made sandwiches, and they eat standing in the kitchen even though there’s a 14-person dining room table just on the other side of the wall.  They talk about the team, and Tony’s work, and then Steve remembers to tell him that he finally watched Ghostbusters and Tony is thrilled, Tony is _elated_ , Tony says he doesn’t care if he has to charter a plane carrying nothing but a single DVD, they’re going to watch Ghostbusters II _tonight_ , and Steve laughs harder than he can remember laughing for a while.  

“So,” Tony says, after he’s convinced Steve not to do the dishes, “this is supposed to be a vacation, right? What do you want to do?”

Steve, if he is honest, doesn’t really want to do anything, but he lets Tony show him the tennis court and the jet skis, the paddleboards and the steam room, and finally Tony looks at him and says, “You want to just sit on the beach?”

They dig towels out of the linen closet and lay them out a few feet from the water, half in the shade of a palm tree.  Tony disappears inside to take a call almost immediately, and while he’s gone Steve digs his toes into the sand and luxuriates in the heat of the sun and the breeze blowing off the waves.  When he was a kid and his asthma acted up in the winter, his Ma used to tell him that one day he’d go to Florida, where he’d feel good every day because it was always warm.  He thinks that his Ma would have liked it here.

“You have a _Kindle_?” Tony says, flopping back down onto the towel next to Steve.  “I would have expected you to be one of those purists - you know, _I just like the feeling of a book in my hands._ ”

“No way,” Steve says.  “I would have killed for one of these back in the day.  You know you can fit, like, a million books on this thing?  Maybe not a million.  Close to that, at least.”

“I could make you one that’ll fit a million books,” Tony says thoughtfully.

“I don’t need a million books.”  Steve leans back until he’s propped up on his elbows.  “You need to be back in LA right now, don’t you.”  


“Nope,” Tony says.  “Not at all.”

“Your phone’s ringing again.”

“My phone’s always ringing, I have people for that.”

“If you need to go, I’ll - ”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony says.  “I don’t need to go.”  He leans down and kisses Steve, a quick press of lips.  “What I _need_  is for you to rub suntan lotion on me before I turn into a lobster.  Come on, hop to it.  God, this is probably so many people’s wet dream, you getting them all oiled up.”

“Is it one of yours?” Steve says, massaging the lotion into Tony’s shoulders.  

“It’s one among many,” Tony says.  

They sit in the sand until it’s too hot to stand, and then they swim, and then they sit and then they swim again.  Under the water, Tony’s hands roam, and Steve doesn’t even bother protesting, just kisses him until they’re both panting, and for the first time since he arrived Steve realizes he’s in paradise.

  
  
  


There’s a bunch of pre-made food in the kitchen, so nobody has to cook dinner, and Tony opens a bottle of wine that Steve immediately declares is overpriced even though he has no idea how much it costs, and they eat in front of the TV because it turns out you can get Ghostbusters II on iTunes (“Did you think I was serious about the plane?” Tony says, and Steve shrugs because it would have been _far_  from the most ridiculous thing he’s seen Tony spend money on) and before long the food is gone and the wine is gone and somehow Steve has ended up splayed out on the sofa with his feet in Tony’s lap.  Tony is looking at his phone with one hand and rubbing Steve’s feet with the other, his touch surprisingly firm and purposeful considering he’s giving it 10% of his attention tops, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut, just for a moment.

“So I guess you liked the original more,” Tony says, and Steve opens his eyes.

The credits are rolling.  Steve yawns.  “Did they save New York?”

“They did,” Tony says.  “Not with quite as much style as us, but they pulled it off.”

“Do you think we could take on a bunch of ghosts?”

“First of all, ghosts aren’t real, and second of all, yes, we could definitely beat ghosts, come _on_.”

“How do you know ghosts aren’t real?” Steve challenges as Tony digs his thumb into the ball of Steve’s foot.  “You probably used to think aliens weren’t real.”

“I always knew aliens were real,” Tony says.  “Steve, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Nobody asked you to,” Steve says, pulling his feet out of Tony’s lap and rolling his eyes.

“No,” Tony says, grabbing at his feet and pulling them down again, “I mean - _this_.  The way we’re doing things right now.  I just - I don’t think it’s working for me.”

Steve, who has been expecting this ever since the beginning, says, “Okay.”

There is a long silence.  Tony is looking at him expectantly, which Steve finds a little annoying.  “Okay?  Is that it?”

“Well, I’m not sure you had to drag me all the way to the Caribbean just to say it,” Steve says irritably, sitting up quickly, “but we always said, as soon as one of us wanted to call it, we’d call it, no hard feelings, so - ”

“Yeah, this is why I’m glad I asked, _jesus_ ,” Tony says.  “I’m not, it’s not _that_ , it’s - I can’t do this halfway anymore.  I’m not saying I want to call it, I’m saying the _opposite_  of that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”  Tony drums his fingers on the arm of the sofa.  “So.  What do you think?”

Steve isn’t sure what he thinks.  “You’re the one who said you didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want anyone to know, I said it would be _easier_  if people didn’t know, and anyway you already told Wilson, so I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“I didn’t tell Sam,” Steve argues.  “Sam asked and I didn’t lie, and hey, _you_  told Rhodey.”

“Rhodey has been my best friend for thirty years, Rhodey _notices_  things,” Tony says.  “Look, I’d be fine with people knowing, I’d be _happy_  for people to know, that’s - it’s not _about_  that.”  


“Then what _is_  it about?” Steve asks.  “Are you saying you don’t want us to sleep with other people?”

Tony blows out a breath.  “It’s not - if that’s not what you want, I can - ”

“Because I’m not,” Steve says.

“Yeah, me neither,” Tony says.  

Steve chuckles.  “Okay.  Is that… it?”

“No,” Tony says.  “It’s - you know how when we’re not apart, we don’t talk?  I don’t like that.”

“We talk sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I know we do, it’s just - I want it to not just be a weekend away once in a while.  I mean the weekends away are nice, I want to continue the weekends away, but I want it to be _more_  than that.  I want to call you just to say hi, I want to see you more often, and jesus, I don’t ever want you to think you should be sleeping in the guest suite, all right?”

“I didn’t think I _had_  to sleep in the guest suite,” Steve says.  “I just - ”

“I don’t want there to _be_  a just.  I want - what I’m saying is that I want there to be an _us_.  I want to give it the old college try, all in, you and me, you know?  And if you don’t want that, that’s fine, we can pretend this whole conversation never happened and just have mind-blowing sex once every six weeks, I’m totally fine with that too.”  Tony grabs his glass of scotch off the coffee table and takes a sip, the movement so casual that it makes something in Steve’s chest hurt a little bit.

“We could try it out,” Steve says, “the other way.”

“Yeah?” Tony says over the rim of his glass.

“Sure.”  He slides across the couch, takes the scotch out of Tony’s hands and kisses his ice-cooled lips gently.  “You didn’t have to take me on vacation just to ask me to go steady, Tony.”  

“First of all, no, that’s not what we’re calling it, that’s _definitely_  not what we’re calling it, and second of all I actually wasn’t planning to ask you anything, it just sort of - ”

“Whatever you say, Stark,” Steve says, kissing him again, and when he falls asleep that night it’s with Tony’s arm around his waist and and Tony’s legs tangled with his and the steady sound of Tony’s breathing in time with the gentle ebb and flow of the waves.

  
  
  


Steve touches down at the base before dinner the next day, and Sam makes a big show of rolling his eyes when Steve meets him down in the gym.  “Have a nice little romantic getaway?”

“Yup,” Steve says.

Sam almost drops his barbell.  “Oh _hell_  no.”

They train until long past dusk, and as Steve starts to unwrap his knuckles he notices he has a missed call from Tony.  He steps out into the hallway and dials him back, quickly, even though there’s no reason to be concerned, Friday would have interrupted their workout if Tony needed the team for something, but he’s still glad when the call connects almost immediately.

“What’s up?” Steve says.  “Is everything okay?”

“What?  Yeah, of course,” Tony says.  “I just landed in London and the drive from the landing strip was such a nightmare I almost got out of the car and flew myself but then I thought, ugh, all those British laws about personal aircraft and anyway it’s raining so my hair is already a disaster, but anyway I finally made it and I think I might have come up with a new HUD design for Sam, so tell him to email me when he has a minute because I want his thoughts on infrared versus heat signature and anyway, I was actually just calling to say hi.  To you.  So, uh, hi.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and smiles.  “Hi.”  


End file.
